The First Night
by Rothelena
Summary: Jane's first night after the jury's verdict, so some kind of tag to 4.01. Minimal spoilers, if at all. No plot, no talking- I don't know what it is. And: I didn't get the rating wrong: no sex here. I can't believe it myself. It could even be K .


_Uhm….I'm confused. There's no sex here, no plot, and they hardly talk. So what is it? Decide for yourself._

_And: I was planning to write some sex into this- but it simply wouldn't come. Sorry. But: I'm sure…next time. Maybe as soon as poor Lisbon got rid of the shoulder cast- I imagine this bullet wound hurts awfully._

_Disclaimer: not mine. But, my dear Bruno: we, the united force of Jane/Lisbon-writers, obvioulsy feel a certain urge now to make him TOUCH HER! So, don't complain._

The First Night

He was free. So Red John hadn't managed to defeat him in the end. That was all that counted at the moment.

At least that was what Patrick Jane told himself when he looked out of the window in the CBI's attic, a cup of tea in his hands, the heated porcelain warming his clammy fingers.

He had told Lisbon he didn't feel better. But that wasn't the whole truth. Right now, in this moment, he felt worse. Far worse. So bad the feeling seemed to taint his core. Taint it an ugly black.

How close the call had been this time. How close he'd come to being bested by his nemesis. The moment the cop had told him there hadn't been a gun on Timothy Carter, he'd started to understand. The revelation had been horrible. But he had done what had to be done- he couldn't let him win. Ever.

He shuddered and took another sip of his tea, felt the heat dancing on his tongue. A hug in a cup, he reveled in the comfort. But he felt so small and empty right now- it wasn't enough. His hands brushed over the table's surface, right next to him, wooden, hard, unforgiving. Grazed by the faint chill of the night air. He longed to touch, and his heart clenched in pain.

He knew he had shocked her. And he hadn't wanted to- had just wished to thank her for being there all the time. She had stayed at his side when no one else had, and it had meant the world to him. Part of him had just wanted to run when she had picked him up after the trial. Run- with her. It didn't matter where. Just far away, where no one would find them. He didn't want anyone else for company at the moment- just her.

His fingers stroked over his leg, feeling the texture of his finely tailored dress-pants, soft, warmed by his skin.

He hadn't touched her once. Hadn't dared to out of fear. Fear she would have evaporated. Fear she would have pushed him back, despite her being so gentle and tender all the time…

He felt something hot and moist on his face and wiped at it, surprised to find it to be tears. He had gotten pretty impatient with his tears lately. He just brushed them away briskly.

Why in hell hadn't he touched her?

He groaned. No way he could go to her tonight. He should leave her some time. She might lose her job because of him, though he was intent to try everything in his might to prevent that from happening. He had no right to be close to her, no right to expect more than she had so generously given him. He chuckled. He always pretended to be so cool around her, so unaffected. Yeah. Like a little boy trying to impress his crush.

Right now he needed her so much it hurts. Needed her to keep the loneliness at bay. To fill himself with something so good he could easily get addicted to it.

Maybe he should go to a bar, listen to some strangers, allow himself to get distracted. But bars meant women who tried to pick him up, and he absolutely couldn't bear that tonight. He didn't want to be charming and polite, didn't want to be a gentleman and find nice little excuses for not being available, dammit. He wanted Teresa Lisbon.

With a desperate sigh he got up and started to pace the room, draining his cup in a single swallow. He definitely needed more, so he moved to the door to go to the breakfast area for a refill, when he heard a sound from outside his lair. Steps. His heartbeat accelerated until his ribcage seemed close to bursting.

He closed his eyes when he heard the door being opened. Her warmth infused his senses, he was so close to her he could actually feel it. His eyes stayed close.

"Shouldn't you be at home," he whispered, "giving your poor shoulder a break?"

"Yeah," she answered softly, "I found I couldn't leave you alone."

"Well", he snorted, but his eyes where gentle when he opened them to look at her, "you never could."

She smiled and came closer.

"So," she breathed, "what now?"

A million pictures crashed into his mind, and he couldn't tell her about a single one of them.

Lisbon felt such a surge of longing that no talking was necessary. She didn't want to talk. Wanted the silence to wrap them up. She had nothing to say. Inside her ran a torrent of confusion, and she didn't want to sort through the mess right now. She just wanted to exist in this very moment. So she slowly extended her right hand and brushed her fingers over his arm. Wandering upwards to his shoulder. His eyes grew dark and haunted, the breath hitching in his throat. His mouth was moving but no sound came out, and she pushed her hand against his lips to still him. She didn't want him to talk.

He closed his eyes, his hands falling down at his sides, boneless.

Her shoulder hurt with every movement she made, but the painkillers took the peak off the pain, and she could easily ignore it. She watched him closely. The blond hair curling over the collar of his shirt. The fluttering pulse on his neck. His tense jaw, dusted by the slight stubble he usually wore. It was blond, like his hair. She lifted her hand and rubbed over it- the rasping sound made her shudder. She stepped closer and lowered her head, putting her forehead against his chest. His heartbeat was strong and fast and for a moment, she needed nothing more but this sound, hearing the life streaming through him.

Never before had somebody meant as much to her.

This was possibly closest to unconditional love she'd ever come in her conscious, adult life. And damn- it scared her to death.

Jane lifted his left hand and pressed her closer against his body. She was so warm, her small frame trembling against his larger one. He knew he hurt her shoulder and hoped she would stop him if it became too much to bear. But he knew she needed him. Needed him far more than she needed to avoid physical pain.

He wanted to say something soothing, but still no words would come. So he just breathed into her hair, inhaling its sweet cinnamon scent. Before he truly realized what he was doing he pushed his nose into her silky dark tresses, nuzzling it thoroughly, making soft sounds of delight in the back of his throat.

Lisbon pressed closer to his warm, pulsating body. Her shoulder throbbed with pain. She couldn't care less. Was just angry that she couldn't use the stupid arm. She felt sobs wrecking her body, noticing the aching heaves with surprise- she hadn't realized she was crying.

Jane held her.

Pressing sweet kisses on her hair. Trying not to put too much pressure on her injury, knowing he failed. But he didn't stop. Just held her closer.

Teresa Lisbon cried until his shirt was wet. He felt the moist warmth seep into the fabric, like a caress on his skin. He knew he would need her for a while. And if he had dared to give words to his thoughts right then, he knew that he would need her much, much longer. Like, for the rest of his miserable days.

Suddenly, the tension flowed out of his body, leaving him drained, so exhausted his muscles started to shake with the effort of staying upright. He had functioned on adrenaline up to now. His body couldn't take it any longer.

Lisbon pushed away from him, looking into his eyes. Her cheeks were wet, her lips trembling slightly. He saw her features "brave up"- it was what Lisbon did in situations like this. Putting the other's wellbeing first.

"You need to sleep," she whispered.

"Not without you." He stated calmly, without much thinking.

He saw the shock flicker over her features for a second. He didn't know what to say, talking had never been so difficult for him, but he wanted to tell her something, needed to deliver the message that had pressured him to get out all night long.

So he bowed down and put his lips on hers.

It was supposed to be nothing more than a whiff of affirmation. Just a promise that he wasn't playing anymore, that he understood the implications. That he wouldn't let her wake up cold and alone. That he was ready to earn her trust, 100% of it.

Her lips were soft, moving beneath his, and he knew he didn't deserve her, her taste so sweet and clear, invigorating like a cool mountain breeze. He tasted something warm and chocolaty, sinfully rich, and he fought to keep his tongue in his own mouth, not wanting to scare her away. His lips were trembling. He hadn't kissed like this in a decade, felt rusty and inept, but he couldn't force himself to break the contact. She was like a life-line he couldn't cut.

Lisbon felt his efforts to keep the kiss as casual as possible. She knew he was scared, she could almost taste it. She tasted the tea he had drunk, too, and something uniquely, essentially Jane, something fresh and urgent, like a hot liquid spreading all over her insides. His lips were smooth and creamy, sugary like caramel, relenting under the pressure of her mouth. She carefully extended her tongue, licking over his sensually soft skin, pushing forward when his lips opened with a gasp.

He instinctively pulled her closer, and she bit back the pain that pierced through her shoulder, not wanting to give him an incentive for breaking away from her.

He relieved the pressure on her injury immediately, noticing his mistake himself, moaning when her good arm pulled him closer, her hand curling around his neck, urging him to deepen the kiss.

He allowed his tongue to slide against hers, sending a flurry of sensations through her blood. His taste grew stronger in her mouth, clean and masculine with the distinct sweetness of vanilla fudge and dark chocolate hidden in its depths. She felt heady and started to shake in his arms.

His tongue danced with hers, taking huge sweeps all through her mouth, trying to melt into her, to combine their essences. He felt a pang of self-consciousness- what the hell was he doing here, he'd never planned on something like this, this went too deep, left him completely defenseless. Touched places that felt numb with pain, slowly coming awake under her soft ministrations. And suddenly he could stretch out his hand and brush against the searing, uncompromising sensation of love, feel its texture under his fingertips while his mind still denied what he was feeling. But there wasn't a mistake. His heart clenched under the force of the emotions which crashed down on him in suffocating waves.

He gasped and broke the kiss.

He saw her eyes almost glowing in the attic's gloom, huge like saucers in her beautiful, pale face. She was so beautiful. He couldn't remember when he'd last seen something as beautiful as her. All this time when he'd been in jail, when she'd visited him, accompanied him while he'd tried to prove Timothy Carter's second identity, he'd found himself repeatedly marveling at this beauty. She was like a priceless diamond, and suddenly, he couldn't look away.

"Not without you," he repeated and pulled the comforter from his makeshift bed, motioning her to lie down.

She nodded and kicked out of her shoes.

The cot was narrow, so she turned onto her side, and he sank down next to her, pulling the blanket over them.

He pushed his left arm under her neck, so her head was pillowed against his shoulder. His right arm rested beneath her cast, his hand curling around her hip.

He pressed a short kiss to her lips.

He suddenly was glad beyond words that she was here, that he could protect her the whole night, shield her with his body against whatever might threaten to harm her. She had saved him. More times, in more ways than he could count. He heard her breathing slow down, felt her body go heavy with sleep against his. He wanted to sing to her like one would to a small child, sing tunes about love and eternity and all the wonders he would make her see.

But he knew he was no wizard, and there was hardly anything he could give her. He clenched his eyes shut and pressed his face against her hair. She seemed even smaller in her sleep.

Jane tried to relax, inhaled her scent so deep into his lungs that it became a part of him.

He would fight not to fail her. She was his sole reason to overcome the worst that lured in his core. And he would. Overcome it.

Her warmth enclosed him like a cloak. And her light ignited him like a flame, pulling him into a deep, relaxed, dreamless slumber.

The End

_Feedback, please! My first T-story. I can't believe it. But I didn't plan it! Honestly! I just couldn't let poor Lisbon have sex while she's suffering from this horrible shoulder-wound…next week it's gone, then they can go at it…so- what do you think? It's awfully plot-free, I know…just tell me your opinion, yes?_


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